


A Transaction

by elfiepike



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfiepike/pseuds/elfiepike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't have the money for Boyd, but he has something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Transaction

**Author's Note:**

> kinoface wanted the story where someone puts something in stiles's mouf. (because: his mooooouf.) i hope this satisfies.
> 
> unbeta'd, but i'll correct errors as i see them. this is set during a nebulous pretend time before boyd is turned but obviously after stiles is all up in the werewolf shenanigans.

"Okay, but what if, for example," Stiles says, "I didn't happen to have a hundred bucks for this--could we do a favor kind of thing?"

He knew just from Boyd's face that the offer was rejected.

"Seriously, you already know that's not how I do business," Boyd says.

"You don't even know what kind of favors I could offer you!" Stiles argues, hands waving emphatically. His voice maybe gets a little loud, but the parking lot is deserted, this late after school on a half-day.

Boyd looks at him assessingly, then looks at his mouth.

"--I mean," Stiles says, backtracking, except. "I mean," he says again, because, well.

"Look, if you really want this, then you'll pay me for it, and you'll do it now, because the offer won't be open after tonight," Boyd says, sighing afterwards and turning towards his car like he's just giving Stiles the time of day out of pity or something.

"No, no, I cannot possibly describe to you the levels of want I have for it," or need, more likely, because it was the full moon tonight and sunset was in less than an hour. Stiles looks away, biting his lip to get a hold of himself, and when he looks back Boyd is staring at his mouth again.

"Oh really," Boyd says, leaning back against his car, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, stance wide enough for Stiles to just--it made Stiles feel fucking weird and a little turned on already, even though he knew that wasn't the point.

Stiles shuffles forward, then tries to saunter a little more confidently across the two spaces between their cars, as if he knows what the hell he's doing. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can think of something that's worth a hundred bucks," he says, lying out of his ass, because he's sure he's seen plenty of movies where blowjobs are only twenty or less. But maybe it'll be worth more because he's, uh, untouched? He can't imagine Boyd caring about that, though, if Stiles turns out to be fucking awful at it.

When there's only a foot or two left between them, Boyd smirks at him, and Stiles tries to grin back. Boyd gestures with his head to the ground, and Stiles takes a nervous breath before getting onto his knees.

It's awkward--of course it is--kneeling between Boyd's legs, Boyd's crotch right in front of him. Stiles can already see the outline of Boyd's cock, and it looks, well, maybe not pornstar big, but it looks huge, this close up, and Stiles is well aware of how little actual experience he's had with this. He's pretty sure experimenting with the "gay" filter on Youporn to see if it did anything for him wasn't nearly as effective at telling him he was maybe bisexual as being here now, looking at the outline of another dude's dick and feeling his own start to show interest.

"Well?" Boyd says, breaking the weird silence between them.

"Look, some of us need to take a minute before we show off our skills, big boy," Stiles says, looking up at Boyd through his lashes.

Probably Boyd hasn't gotten so many blowjobs anyway; he wouldn't be accepting an unfortunately-obvious virgin like Stiles in exchange for a hundred bucks if he had.

With that thought, Stiles undoes Boyd's belt, and pops open the button on his jeans. Boyd's hands tense where they're still hooked onto the beltloops, but otherwise Boyd doesn't move.

Stiles has never been so aware of the sound of a zipper before. "What, no hearts?" Stiles says; Boyd's boxers are plain black cotton.

"Some of us weren't planning for a special evening," Boyd says. "Get on with it."

Stiles rubs at Boyd's dick through the cloth, curious even through the weird, _Now I am a sex worker_ vibe; when he looks up, Boyd is staring right back at him, and Stiles has to swallow before he can look back at Boyd's open fly and pull out his cock.

Boyd's cock is--big. Boyd's pretty big, so it's not all that surprising, but Stiles has been in and out of lockerrooms enough to know that you can't really tell just from looking at someone. The tip is shiny with precum, and it's heavy in his hands in a way his own dick never is, hot and unfamiliar. The head is shiny with precum, and Stiles licks his lips without thinking about it.

"Do you want a written invitation?" Boyd says, his voice lower than it usually is, his fingers clenching and relaxing again.

"No," Stiles says, his voice shaky, "this is inviting enough." And it is: his mouth is already watering. The smell of arousal is strong enough that werewolf senses needed not apply; this evening has been really informative to Stiles, about what he might be interested in trying out in the future, if he gets the chance. He opens his mouth, wider than he thought he really could, and wonders if he looks like any of those guys in the videos, or maybe even any of the girls, and then gives the head a generous lick, holding onto the base with one hand and bracing himself on Boyd's thigh with the other.

The taste is salty and strong, but not gross, and then his phone chimes with his "half-hour until moonrise" alarm and he thinks that he'll have to savor the next blowjob, if he gets a chance to. He lets go of Boyd's cock and spits on his hand once, and then again when the first time didn't seem like nearly enough, and starts jerking Boyd off, sucking on just the head for a minute before he manages to take a little more in his mouth.

It's--a lot. And he's pretty sure that if Boyd is into face-fucking and gagging and stuff, he wouldn't have kept his hands so carefully clear (or he would have mentioned it or something at least--whatever), so Stiles just takes in what he can, hollowing out his cheeks and getting his other hand into the action, exploring the heavy feeling of Boyd's sack through his boxers.

"Damn," Boyd says, under his breath, like he can't help himself, and Stiles looks up at him again, taking him in a little deeper, thinking about what a picture he must make right now.

Stiles's lips are stretched and almost raw from being open so wide, and his saliva keeps dripping down Boyd's cock from his mouth, but at least it makes his hand move easier, faster--faster and harder, when it seems like that's what Boyd likes. Stiles is almost giddy, and more than half-hard himself. He pulls his mouth off for a second, just to breathe, his jaw unused to the exercise, but then Boyd's hand unlatches from the beltloop and he's jerking himself off using his hand on top of Stiles's, his hand hot and his cock hot and Stiles can only kneel there, open-mouthed, when Boyd comes.

It mostly lands in Stiles's mouth, but some spills down his chin, and some hits high on his cheek.

Stiles swallows reflexively and sits down abruptly on his heels, Boyd letting go of his hand and tucking himself in. "Oh my fucking god," Stiles says, more than a little shocked, the taste still thick in his mouth and his hand still hot.

Boyd is grinning at him so hugely, like Stiles is the best thing he's ever seen. Stiles is abruptly aware of the cooling come on his face, and how much his knees hurt from the pavement. He wipes his shirt along his chin and cheeks frantically, and stood as quickly as he could with his still very-much-there hard-on while Boyd got the stuff out of his trunk.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Boyd says, smirking again and passing it over. Stiles nods shakily, wishing he had enough time to jerk off or shower a few times before he had to run and save the day again, because fucking werewolves smell everything.

"Yeah, you too," he says. "Gotta jet, have other business to attend to--not that I mean--uh."

Boyd rolls his eyes. "Later, Stilinski."

Stiles only needs a few minutes in his Jeep before he can drive, really. He'll be fine in just a second. Any time now.


End file.
